One was a little higher than the others. He pulled himself up and found, on its flat top, two huge feet. A statue must have stood here. It probably stood, if Vimes knew anything about statues, in some kind of noble attitude. Now it had gone, and there were just feet, broken off at the ankles.{86} They weren’t exceptionally noble.
As he lowered himself again he saw, protected because this side was out of the wind, some lettering carved deeply into the plinth. He tried to make it out in the fading light:
‘AB HOC POSSUM VIDERE DOMUM TUUM’
Well… ‘domum tuum’ was ‘your house’, wasn’t it?… and ‘videre’ was ‘I see’…
‘What?’ he said aloud. ‘“I can see your house from up here?” What kind of a noble sentiment is that?’
‘I believe it was meant to be a boast and a threat, Sir Samuel,’ said 71-hour Ahmed. ‘Somewhat typical of Ankh-Morpork, I’ve always thought.’
Vimes stood very still. The voice had been right behind him.
And it was Ahmed’s voice. But it lacked that hint of camel spit and gravel that it had possessed in Ankh-Morpork. Now it was the drawl of a gentleman.
‘It’s the echoes here,’ Ahmed went on. ‘I could be anywhere. I could have a crossbow aimed at you right now.’
‘You won’t fire it, though. We’ve both got too much at stake.’
‘Oh, there is honour among thieves, is there?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Vimes. Oh, well… time to see if he was dead right or just dead. ‘Is there honour among policemen?’
Sergeant Colon’s eyes went big.
‘Swing my weight to one side?’ he said.
‘That’s how magic carpets are steered,’ said Lord Vetinari calmly.
‘Yes, but supposing I swing myself off?’
‘We’ll have a lot more room,’ said Beti unfeelingly. ‘C’mon, sarge, you know how to throw your weight around.’
‘I ain’t throwing my weight anywhere,’ said Colon firmly. He was lying full length on the carpet, both hands gripping it as hard as possible. ‘It’s not natural, just a bit of broadloom between you and certain splash.’
The Patrician looked down. ‘We’re not over water, sergeant.’
‘I know what I meant, sir!’
‘Can we slow down a bit?’ said Beti. ‘The breeze is invading my privacy, if you get my drift.’
Lord Vetinari sighed. ‘We’re not going very fast as it is. I suspect this is a very old carpet.’
‘There’s a frayed bit here,’ said Beti.
‘Shut up,’ said Colon.
‘Look, I can poke my finger right through—’
‘Shut up.’
‘Notice how it kind of wobbles when you move?’
‘Shut up.’
‘Here, look, those palm trees down there look really small.’
‘Nobby, you’re scared of heights,’ said Colon. ‘I know you’re scared of heights.’
‘That’s sexual stereotyping!’
‘No, it’s not!’
‘Yes, it is! You’ll be expecting me to break my ankle a lot and scream all the time next! It’s my job to prove to you that a woman can be as good as a man!’
‘Practically identical in your case, Nobby. You’ve caught too much sun, that’s what it is. You are not female, Nobby!’
Beti sniffed. ‘That’s just the sort of sexist remark I’d expect from you.’
‘Well, you’re not!’
‘It’s the principle of the thing.’
‘Well, at least we now have transport,’ said Lord Vetinari, his tone suggesting that the show was over. ‘Unfortunately, I had no time to find out where the army is.’
‘Ah! I can help you there, sir!’ Colon tried to salute, and then made a grab for the carpet again. ‘I found out by cunning, sir!’
‘Really?’
‘Yessir! It’s at a place called… er… En al Sams la Laisa, sir.’
The carpet drifted onwards for a moment, in silence.
‘“The Place where the Sun Shineth Not”?’ said the Patrician.
There was more silence. Colon was trying not to look at anyone.
‘Is there a somewhere called Gebra?’ said Nobby, sulkily.
‘Yes, Be— corporal. There is.’
‘They’ve gone there. Of course, you’ve only got a woman’s word for it.’
‘Well done, corporal. We shall head up the coast.’
Lord Vetinari relaxed. In a busy and complex life he’d never met people quite like Nobby and Colon. They talked all the time yet there was something almost… restful about them.
He watched the dusty horizon carefully as the ancient carpet curved around. Under his arm was the metal cylinder Leonard had made for him.
Drastic times required drastic measures.
‘Sir?’ said Colon, his voice muffled by the carpet.
‘Yes, sergeant?’
‘I’ve got to know… How did you… you know… get the donkey down?’
‘Persuasion, sergeant.’
‘What? Just talking?’
‘Yes, sergeant. Persuasion. And, admittedly, a sharp stick.’
‘Ah! I knew—’
‘The trick of getting donkeys down from minarets’, said the Patrician, as the desert unwound below them, ‘is always to find that part of the donkey which seriously wishes to get down.’
The wind had settled. The bird up on the cliffs had shut down for the night. All Vimes could hear was the sizzle of the little desert creatures.
Then Ahmed’s voice said: ‘I am genuinely impressed, Sir Samuel.’
Vimes took a deep breath. ‘You know, you really fooled me,’ he said. ‘“May your loins be full of fruit.” That was a good one. I really thought you were just—’ He stopped. But Ahmed continued:
‘—just another camel-driver with a towel on his head? Oh, dear. And you’d been doing so well up to now, Sir Samuel. The Prince was very impressed.’
‘Oh, come on. You were all but making suggestive comments about melons. What was I supposed to think?’
‘Don’t fret, Sir Samuel. I consider it all a compliment. You can turn round. I wouldn’t dream of harming you unless you do something… foolish.’
Vimes turned. He could just make out a shape in the afterglow.
‘You were admiring this place,’ said Ahmed. ‘Tacticus’s men had it built when he tried to conquer Klatch. It’s not really a city by today’s standards, of course. It was really just making a point. “Here we are and here we stay,” as it were. And then the wind changed.’
‘You murdered Snowy Slopes, didn’t you?’
‘The term is executed. I can show you the confession he signed beforehand.’
‘Of his own free will?’
‘More or less.’
‘What?’
‘Let us say, I pointed out to him the alternatives to signing the confession. I was kind enough to leave you the pad. After all, I wanted to keep your interest. And don’t look like that, Sir Samuel. I need you.’
‘How can you tell how I look?’
‘I can guess. The Assassins’ Guild had a contract on him in any case. And by a happy chance I am a Guild member.’
‘You?’ Vimes tried to bite down on the word. And then: why not him? Kids got sent a thousand miles to be taught in the Assassins’ Guild school…
‘Oh, yes. The best years of my life, they tell me. I was in Viper House. Up School! Up School! Right Up School!’ He sighed like a prince and spat like a camel driver. ‘If I shut my eyes I can still recall the taste of that peculiar custard we used to get on Mondays. Dear me, how it all comes back… I remember every soggy street. Does Mr Dibbler still sell his horrible sausages inna bun in Treacle Mine Road?’